


a lit cigarette in the darkness

by lordyuuri



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And part drama, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Reminiscing, Self-Reflection, So part angsty, Victor Messed Up, post-Viktuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordyuuri/pseuds/lordyuuri
Summary: It was two in the morning when he woke up. Once again, he dreamed about him, dreamed about what he once had. - in which viktor is, once again, alone.





	a lit cigarette in the darkness

He abruptly woke up, his face stained with tears, sweaty silver strands of hair glued to his face, because  _he_ had invaded his dreams again. Invaded and had taken hold of him, occupying every second of his consciousness and unconsciousness. A potent drug that was cut off from him, and he found himself wanting more and  _more_  and  _more_ , craving after the very thing that made his heart race, his mind fuzzy, gave him the ability to actually  _feel._

Just one more  _taste_. Just one more hit and Viktor Nikiforov would be good. He'd be able to function normally for the next week, next month – hell, maybe next rest of his life. If he could just see, hear, smell, touch,  _taste_  him one more time, then he could maybe, just  _maybe_ , move on and be okay.

But, as he sat in the bed (the bed made for the warmth of two, not the chill of one), gripping his pillow, licking his dry lips, Viktor realized that he wouldn't be okay, that he just couldn't declare himself fine and dandy. No, he couldn't fix himself that easily – too many pieces were on the floor, a big mess that will take too long to put back together (and even then, it won't be quite the same).

Without Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor could never be "fixed" again.

He moved his hair from out of his face, a thing that Yuuri had always done when he wanted to see what emotions currently flickered within ocean blue eyes. He missed Yuuri's touch, the feel of soft, gentle hands intertwined with his hands or tracing a path along his jawline or pressed against his sweat-slicked chest. He missed the smile and the eyes and the laughter and the sensitivity and the passion and the strength and the life he breathed into Viktor Nikiforov. There were a lot of things he missed, a lot of things he wanted to hold onto and never let go of again, to promise to never break again, to keep them safe and protect them.

Yuuri was the porcelain doll that Viktor let fall, and now he scrambled to put him back together – to put  _them_  back together.

Viktor hugged himself, holding onto the fabric of one Yuuri's oversized T-shirts that he left behind (an old shirt and a broken man, left behind in the past). It was the only physical piece of Yuuri Katsuki he had left, the only memory he could actually touch. He swore he could still smell his scent – fresh spring flowers and katsudon – and his thoughts were instantly overwhelmed with nothing but Yuuri.

Viktor looked for his phone, eventually finding it snuggled within the sheets. He squinted as the bright light washed over himself, making him transition from the purgatory of partial-sleepiness to full-blown awake. He scrolled through the numbers until he landed on Yuuri's, and his thumb hovered over that name.

It's been months since he has talked to Yuuri, though it honestly feels like an eternity and more. Surely Yuuri was able to move on? Surely he was able to pick himself up, completely free of misery? Surely he was not stuck in the past, the future blurry and unreachable?

Viktor heard the soft noises of sheets being ruffled. It was Makkachin climbing onto the bed, sharing one look with his owner. A look that also spoke of loneliness and remembrance. The chocolate poodle moved slowly towards the middle of the bed and laid on his side, a habit he still has from when Yuuri lived with them.

Viktor sighed shakily. He couldn't do this. Not right now. Maybe later, when he could find the confidence to apologize for everything. For breaking his trust, for ruining years of growth, for  _this_  and  _that_  and  _just_  –

He let his phone slip out of his hand and onto the floor. A small  _crack_  sound followed suit, but he didn't care. Viktor readjusted himself under the covers, snuggled closer to Makkachin, draping a protective arm over the poodle. Maybe this ache nestled within his chest will fade away as he sleeps (though Viktor doubted it ever will because that ache was representative of  _Yuuri_ and  _Yuuri_ would always be a part of him.)

Viktor closed his eyes and went back to  _him._

**Author's Note:**

> this was one of my earlier yoi stories.  
> couldn't write viktor then.  
> still can't write viktor now.  
> rip me.


End file.
